"Finally… a moment to breathe."
Eve's voice was faint, drained. From the very beginning she had danced with Lloyd without pause, and only during the change of music did she finally earn a chance to rest.
So far, their infiltration seemed to be going well. No one had noticed anything unusual about them, and no one had approached them for conversation. Only a few curious glances swept over them—just enough to make Eve's heart flutter with anxiety.
"Don't worry. They're merely intrigued."
Lloyd's words arrived right on time.
"This ball has likely been held in secrecy countless times. Even behind masks, many of these guests share a familiarity. And tonight, with the two of us suddenly appearing… of course they would wonder who we are."
"Should we… talk to them?"
"No need. The more we speak, the more likely we slip."
Lloyd's ability to perform was almost frightening. The way he lounged so casually—it felt as if he had attended events like this a dozen times.
His steel-grey eyes scanned the hall relentlessly. In truth, he was just as uneasy as her, though he hid it well. Ever since he saw that painted stained-glass window, an ominous feeling had begun to stir inside him. That kind of structure belonged in a church—yet here it was, buried beneath the earth in this disturbing place. It was as if the window itself opened into a gate leading straight to Hell.
"Eve—have you seen any guards?" Lloyd asked abruptly.
"Guards?" The girl glanced around. Everything was drenched in the ocean of merriment—where would any guard hide?
"Yes. Think about it: ever since we arrived… aside from the first checkpoint, there have been no guards at all."
Lloyd's expression grew unusually grave. The two of them sat as though nothing were amiss, the scene around them no different from any ordinary ball. But suddenly, Lloyd noticed something—
Servants gliding through the crowd, silver trays raised high. On those trays lay coins… and gold.
The trade had already begun. In fact, it might've begun the moment they stepped inside. Lloyd originally expected some grand announcement—a speech followed by a triumphant appearance backed by a swarm of beautiful women. But instead, the goods were treated like common drinks, carried through the hall for anyone to take.
Damn it. Which meant… Sabot likely wouldn't show up at all.
Tonight was a flawless script, one where Lloyd calculated everything—except this.
Just as frustration sank its claws into him, a servant stepped forward. The tray before him was filled with Butcher Coins and jewelry. Pretending to be well-accustomed to this ritual, Lloyd prepared to toss out the last few coins he possessed just to dismiss the man—
But the servant spoke.
"Sir, someone invites you."
His voice was ice cold beneath the mask, and for the first time tonight, a chill crept up Lloyd's spine.
"Invites… me?"
He asked again, and the servant silently stepped aside.
There—standing on the high platform—was a man wearing the mask of a bull… waving toward Lloyd.
"Eve. Ready your weapon. We may have been exposed."
Lloyd stood up, murmuring his warning under his breath.
Eve's expression sharpened. Her hand hovered over her thigh—just fabric separating her from the cold metal waiting beneath.
"What will you do?" she whispered.
Lloyd lifted his pocket watch.1:00 a.m.
"We accept the invitation. Escape isn't an option anymore."
With that, he took Eve by the hand… and moved forward.
…
This was the highest point of the hall—right beneath that eerie stained glass. When Lloyd looked up from below, he had seen many figures gathered here. Yet now, as he arrived, only the bull-masked man and a distant servant remained.
The revelry below still surged like a fever dream… but up here, a vast emptiness chilled the air.
"Welcome… my new friends."
The man spread his arms in greeting, his broad frame fitting the bull mask perfectly. The sight reminded Lloyd of Berau's own mask.
"I suppose my cover is blown," Lloyd replied as he and Eve took their seats opposite the man. There was no more point pretending. "I would like to know how you found me out… Mr. Sabot."
No evasions—those would be ridiculous now. Sabot could have easily ordered their execution instead of offering an invitation.
The bull-masked man smiled. He was the master here. Everything fell neatly into place beneath his hand.
"From the moment you stepped into the carriage, sir. You know… dealings conducted in darkness must remain unseen. Our guests are very selective. They never bring newcomers unless they file a request with me first. But in a place like this… who would ever speak of it to outsiders?"
Below them, dancers twirled beneath their masks.
"This place is Heaven. And human greed ensures that no one speaks of paradise. Guests only grow fewer over time… never more. And then, there was your Butcher Coin."
A coin with the image of a shrike spun on the table—landing face-up with the shrike staring at them.
Sabot's eyes gleamed behind the bull's mask.
"One Butcher Coin may buy three Gold Lions—enough for a whole family in the Lower District to survive months. Its value never wavers. Hand it over at any exchange and you'll always get your money."His tone dipped into something like mockery."The Lower District is a landfill. To protect their coins, the poor hide them against their skin—always touching, always rubbing, terrified it might vanish. Their lives depend on that metal."
"But look at yours—freshly minted, like it came straight from the forge. Only the distinguished Shrike himself would own coins like that."
The details had betrayed him. Lloyd gave a quiet nod.
No sense hiding further.
He drew the silver revolver and pointed it at Sabot—a reckless act, yet the distant servant didn't move… as if blind to the threat.
"Then I assume you recognize this as well."
"How could I not? The Shrike's gun… unmistakable."
Sabot remained completely calm. He lifted a glass nearby and poured wine as red as blood.
"Its name is Deathbell," Lloyd whispered, "because Perlor said that when it fires, the sound resembles the toll of the dead."
The bell tolls, the bullet exits the chamber—and the dead return to the earth for eternal sleep.
Lloyd's gaze lingered on the demons engraved upon the cylinder.Spirits of the damned, striking back at the realm of gods—only to be consumed by fire and reduced to ash.
"I only came to ask a few questions. There's no need for blood."
"But the moment you arrived armed," the other man replied,"you had already accepted bloodshed as a possibility, hadn't you?"
Their eyes met.Two hunters cornered in the same narrow path—both knowing exactly what fate had prepared.
It was merely a conversation—yet the invisible weight in the air closed around Eve's throat.From the moment she sat down, her voice died; her limbs refused to move.Even when Lloyd lifted her skirt and retrieved the gun named Deathbell,she offered no resistance—no escape.
The joyous ball went on uninterrupted,but both men felt the undercurrent roiling beneath the music.
"How about we find a middle ground?"
Lloyd suddenly lowered the weapon—abandoning force for a calm, calculated smile beneath the brass mask.
"You seem to understand the situation well," Sabo mused,eyeing the man before him with a spark of growing interest.
"Indeed. Even if I kill you, what then?I'd never walk out alive.This place—this business of yours—thrives in darkness.You must protect yourself, and more importantly, your guests.Behind those masks sit the puppeteers of Old Dunling—powerful hands guiding the city.As long as you live, you are their stain.If they unite against you, your grave is sealed."
Lloyd looked around the dazzling hall—the gold, the opulence—and wondered how vast a fortune Sabo must have poured into this place.
"With a single order, the guards will escort the guests out,and this entire hall will seal itself into a fortress.No one leaves. No one enters."
Like the hot spring pass of the ancient tunnels—one man with a fire lance could hold off an entire army trapped beneath.Likewise, as long as Sabo held that single corridor,no force could storm this sanctuary.
"You won't defy Perlor. But that's all—If you keep silent, I uncover nothing."
"And what do you intend to do, sir?"
"How about a wager?"At the word wager, Lloyd's eyes lit up with sharp excitement.
"A wager?"
"Yes. On the table, we stand equal.Lady Luck shows no favoritism.No blood.No conflict.Perfect harmony."
"…Curious," Sabo admitted, surprised—yet not refusing.
He clapped once.A servant arrived, carrying a lavish case.Cards. Dice. Every game of chance one could desire.
"What shall we play?"
Sabo shuffled the cards with practiced ease—the Queen and the King flipping through his fingersbefore he laid them out like an army deploying across the battlefield.
Lloyd shook his head softly.He reached once more for the revolver—but this time, he opened the cylinder,pressing out each bullet with deliberate care.
"I'm not fond of card games.Too much math.I prefer something… simpler.Something that relies solely on luck."
Five bullets laid in formation atop the table—their brass casings reflecting the three masked figures.The cylinder spun with a metallic clatter—a rattling echo like bones in the dark.
Lloyd's voice fell into a familiar rhythm,words drawn from some shadowed memory:
"A one-in-six chance."